Resurrection
by x-Earl-Ciel-Phantomhive-x
Summary: Rescue is beyond my reach, before me only death. The most that I can ask for now is temporary breath. A game is pointless to be played, when pieces players lack. I'll give anything for strength to give this hatred back.


Disclaimer: All of the characters and other references made are the property of Yana Toboso, and all those who are involved in the creation of the 'Black Butler' series. I have no claim to anything.

Author's Note: This story is one that I do not wish to post an explanation for. This dedication belongs to…the 'darkness.' If that confuses anyone, read on, and things should clear up.

**Resurrection**

My blood is on their hands, their hands are on my skin,

By all that lurks within the dark, I swear I won't give in.

I taste the liquid iron, I hear a stranger's plea,

I smell the burning flesh that I will never wish to see.

It digs a little deeper, it hurts a little more,

There is no God, I realize, as they force me to the floor.

My wings still weakly beat against the bars of my small cage.

My tears flow red and scalding as my hatred turns to rage.

Day in, day out, they come, they go, I show them now no fear.

In solitude the darkness calls me a _"strange little dear."_

The cage expands, yet I have never felt so trapped before.

Day in, day out, they come, they go, I scream for them no more.

My soul will not be broken, this, to them, my denial;

Instead it twists and darkens and I feel the shadows smile.

Day in, day out, they come, they go, their words, they never change:

_"Pretty," "lucky,"_ "_chosen_," still the darkness calls me _"strange."_

My hatred's boiled to the brim, the strength is what I lack.

Day in, day out, they come, they go, and not a one comes back.

The cage is open, yet I know I should not be mistaken.

The cage lies empty but for me; It's my turn to be taken.

Their filthy grip upon my wrists, cold stone across my skin,

I struggle just to show them that I still will not give in.

Their violence, their lust and greed, each filthy sin and vice,

Thrust upon an innocent to be their sacrifice,

But there's no room in heaven for a hatred strong as mine.

My tainted life holds no appeal to beings so divine.

Incense burns my senses and their voices fill my head,

If innocence is what they want, I'll give them _hate_ instead.

The darkness now lies silent, as though waiting to attack,

And I'd give _anything_ for strength to give their hatred back.

One final hope, one moment more, and then the deed is done:

Liquid iron and solid steel through flesh have become one.

One final plea my heart cries out as time itself stands still,

If God yearns not to help me, then perhaps another will.

It does not matter who or why or how they've come to be,

So long as someone, _anyone_, will grant their aid to me.

A movement seen through fading sight, a shadow's fast advance,

It moves with careless, desperate speed, lest it miss its chance.

It swallows every candle's flame, each blinding mask of white,

Day in, day out for one last time, into eternal night.

The filthy hands and stone are gone, my life suspends midair,

Before me hangs the thread of hope, I'm given warning fair.

What use have I for such a thing that even Gods disdain?

If that is all you long for, you are welcome; take your claim.

Conviction strong, my choice is made. I've nothing left to lose.

One final choice left to be made; I let the darkness choose.

My final scream is granted to the last pain I shall feel

Until my time is at its end, as with it ends our deal.

A wild laughter, dark and low, the sound of breaking chains,

_"Kill them all,"_ keep killing until not a one remains.

A taloned hand with blackened tips, created to defile,

The warmest that I can remember feeling in awhile,

Reaches through the cage's bars to gently stroke my face.

The darkness whispers, _"Yes, my Lord. I'll lead you from this place."_

Bones are shattered, muscles torn, destruction of their shrine,

The scent of blood consumes me, and for once it isn't mine.

Around, around, again, again, a graceful, strong advance,

Only one is standing when the devil ends his dance.

A Knight before his King kneels low, with hunger in his eyes,

His hand rests where his heart should be, completing his disguise.

The cold stone floor, now soft and warm and wet with blood impure,

Motionless beneath my feet; They scream for me no more.

Yet still I sit my throne atop my fallen pawns below,

Myself alone, save for my Knight, my Sword, my Shield, my Crow.

Fulfilling every order yet, amusement in his eyes,

_"Strange child"_ is _"Young Master"_ till the day he claims his prize.

I watch the game play out before me, this time I shall win.

I wouldn't then, and will not now, and _never_ will give in.

I'll move my pawns without regret, I will not hesitate.

Upon my lonely throne I'll stay, until I hear,

_"Checkmate."_


End file.
